


Broken Teacups

by 1BloggerandSociopathX1



Series: Heaps of Johnlock [1]
Category: Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock/John - Fandom, johnlock - Fandom
Genre: 221 B, Angst, Cuddling, Established Johnlock, Fluff, HLV, I'll tag any triggers as they come up, London, Lots of Stuff, M/M, case stress, nonestablished
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 06:46:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3437453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1BloggerandSociopathX1/pseuds/1BloggerandSociopathX1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After His Last Vow, John moves back into 221B with a certain sarcastic, rude, amazing detective. New feelings start to become obvious between the two as time goes on. After everything with Moriarty calms down, a certain case puts Sherlock on edge and John has to calm down our favorite high functioning sociopath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Teacups

Two Hundred and twenty one B Baker Street has always been known for messy kitchen tables, late nights, and awkward stares. These are facts that have never been changed despite the countless cases, take-out meals, and sulks from a certain consulting detective. At least, they weren't changed until Sherlock jumped and made John fall. The late nights at the flat that were once filled with excitement were soon filled with alcohol and tears until John couldn't take it anymore. He moved out, but not necessarily moved on. He found what he believed was a nice girl who was safe. Funny, sweet, sassy, and safe. She was safe where Sherlock was the opposite and John thought it would help him move on, but instead it made him miss his best friend even more. Despite missing Sherlock, John settled for safe because it was all he had left. Safe, secure, but without Sherlock.

Safe and secure worked until Sherlock returned and within the first week of him returning, John was kidnapped and almost burned alive. So much for safe. But John never liked safe. He craved danger, after all, and danger was one thing that made Sherlock who he was. Sherlock returning already made John question is relationship with Mary and if he wanted to continue, but Moriarty’s return sealed the deal. Moving back into 221 B came almost as quickly as the plane turned around. The divorce papers were already sitting in John’s drawer collecting dust after Mary shot Sherlock. After all, John did always keep his clothes folded and ready to pack. Mary wasn't at home when John moved his stuff out, but John didn't care. He actually found it much easier to pack without her looming over him. When he got to the flat with a bag in each hand and his doctor kit resting on his hip, he found that the door was unlocked. He slowly made his way up the stairs, the familiarity of each step confirming that this was where he belonged. He went into the main room to find Sherlock sitting in his leather chair with his eyes closed in thought before they opened and Sherlock smiled, nodding while saying, “Welcome home, John.” This moment of sincerity didn't last long as Sherlock quickly stood up and bounded for the kitchen where a chemical experiment had started to fizz and bubble. John took a deep breath before setting his bags next to his red chair, and he was suddenly very happy that Sherlock could handle not having a good view of the kitchen.

When John first moved back in, it seemed as though Sherlock and John were tip toeing around each other- avoiding the obvious question looming over their heads. Mary was gone and there was nothing except their own emotions stopping themselves from telling the other how they felt. How two years apart showed them how lucky they were and showed how much they needed each other. Sherlock needed John just as every living thing needs the sun in order to survive. John needed Sherlock as the sky needs stars to make it shine. Without the blockade of Mary stopping these feelings, they became obvious soon. Their relationship became obvious as Sherlock inched closer in each cab they took, as John smiled a bit too widely as Sherlock explained a case, and as both of them sat on the couch together with take out while watching late night television instead of sitting in their separate chairs. The occasional lazy Sunday was filled with time on the couch instead of sulks and rants. They eased into the relationship, neither actually bringing up what they had fallen into so easily, so predictably.

 

The first few weeks after John returned were hectic, to say the least. Sherlock was set on finding Moriarty, using every free moment to blurt out some new idea or theory as to where he was or why he returned. John was very supportive throughout the whole endeavor, apologizing when Sherlock would leave a crime scene early to bolt home and investigate another theory concerning Moriarty, and trying to calm the detective down when he ranted about not finding anything on Moriarty. This only went on for a few months before everything died down again. Moriarty was nowhere to be found and the rest of London seemed to move on. Upon occasion Sherlock would go into a rant or sulk concerning Moriarty, but these usually went on without being a real problem after John reassured him that they’d cross that bridge when they came to it. Of course, John worried about Sherlock constantly, wondering how much space Moriarty was taking up in that amazing mind of his.

 

Months later, when Moriarty was far from everyone’s minds and a simple case turned into a long fight against a murderer, John’s patience was running a bit thin. Late nights were no stranger to 221 B, but after an entire week of staying up late to hear rants and to randomly catch a cab to Lestrade’s office, everyone was a bit grumpy. ‘A bit’ was an understatement for the detective. One late night, Sherlock was pacing back and forth in the living room of the flat, his hands under his chin in thought as John sat heavily in his red chair. John tried to rub the sleep from his eyes as Sherlock suddenly jumped up on the coffee table, staring at the wall that was now covered with pictures of victims, the crime scenes and possible suspects.

As he jumped, an empty tea cup fell to the ground with a crash that rippled through the flat. John groaned in annoyance, “Sherlock.”

Sherlock didn't respond. “Sherlock!”

Sherlock simply grunted in response, leaving John to speak again, “Clean that up.”

The detective waved John off absently, not looking away from the wall, he muttered “Busy.”

John rubbed his eyes again, trying to keep his temper from the long, sleepless week down, “You've been busy all week, just clean it up.”

Sherlock made no move to clean it and said harshly, “Shut up about the bloody teacup, John.”

John licked him lips before pursing them and standing up. He went over to the other side of the table opposite the broken tea cup, and looked up at Sherlock’s face for the first time in hours. He was paler than usual, his eyes dark, and his hair a mess and John didn't like it at all. In fact, he hated when Sherlock was stressed on a case at all.

John looked up to Sherlock, who was now even taller thanks to the table, and sighed, trying to get his attention, “Sherlock.”

Sherlock didn't move and repeated, “I’m busy.”

John responded quickly, “You’re exhausted, forget the case for a bit.”

This got Sherlock to finally look down to John with a glare, “A murderer is still freely running around London and you want me to forget about it?”

John wasn't scared of this glare and sat down on the couch, “I want you to relax and maybe get a few hours of sleep.”

Sherlock scoffed at this and John added, “For me, lay down.”

Sherlock pursed his lips at that before reluctantly getting off the table and laying down on the couch with his head near John and his legs hanging off the edge.

He had an annoyed look plastered on his face as he stared ahead, “I don’t need sleep, I need the work. I can’t even sleep right now, not with such an infuriating case to work on.”

John shook his head as he thought of how ridiculous it was for Sherlock to think he could run on four hours of sleep and nicotine patches. John gave Sherlock a sad smile, although the detective wasn't watching, before putting a hand on Sherlock’s head. Sherlock flinched slightly and looked up to John with a raised eyebrow.

John simply rolled his eyes and said fondly, “Shut up and try to relax, you git.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to respond but closed it as John started carding his fingers through his dark curls. Sherlock stared at John for a moment longer before fixing his gaze on the fireplace across the room. John rested his head on the back of the couch as he closed his eyes and worked his fingers through Sherlock’s hair lightly. Sherlock tried to keep his mind on the case but it wandered to whose fingers where in his hair. He thought of how different his life was now that John was with him. Of course John was with him constantly, but they were really together now. Death couldn't keep them apart, and it hadn't. Not yet, anyway, and for that Sherlock was grateful.

They stayed like that for what seemed like hours, silently feeding off each other and lost in their own minds. After no certain amount of time, John felt Sherlock’s head press more on his lap as the detective pulled his legs onto the couch to be more comfortable. John didn't stop going through Sherlock’s hair as this happened. John opened his eyes after a while, pulling his hand out of Sherlock’s hair to rub his eyes. As he brought his hand down he looked down and smiled at his best friend’s sleeping form. He rarely ever saw Sherlock sleep, and the times he had seen him, he was certain the man was faking. He could always tell when Sherlock was faking because when he wasn't he looked so peaceful and almost childlike- like now. When Sherlock slept his mouth wasn't drew into a thin line in thought, his usual stand-off self wasn't able to hide behind a coat and scarf, and when he slept Sherlock couldn't mask his emotions with his veil that he had grown so accustomed to using. John sighed and leaned his head back against the couch again, looking down to the detective, his Sherlock, and he had never been so glad that a teacup broke.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is my first work on AO3 and tbh I'm only posting it because some friends of mine convinced me to. This actually was intended to be angst and end in a fight, but I don't think John would get that upset over a teacup, lol. I might be posting some more, if I find the time, so if ya liked it check in again! Thanks for reading!


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